Sara Berry- Sad Lesbian

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God Save the Queen - Chapter 1 - Ms_Mae - 35mm: The Ballad of Sara Berry [Archive of Our Own]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

So I don't know how big the Sara Berry fandom is on here, but I wrote like a novella's worth of stuff based on shipping her with Julie Jenkins, and I figured some people here might like it. Contents include: angst, sad lesbians, hurt and comfort, happy endings, silliness, a bunch of horror movie director/actor references, sesbian lex in the second part, and some AU fun in part 4

Wolf and Bunny, Pt. 2

Hi, this is a series now that I’m collaborating with @grumpybunny-edith on!

Part 1- Part 1 [Bunny POV] Next Part

Day 0

“One seventy-five, eighty-eight.”

You stare at the screen in disbelief. Your heart starts racing and your blood runs cold. Something has to be wrong, it shouldn’t be that expensive for a single month’s supply of a single one of your hormones.

“Wait,” you try to keep your voice steady and grip the counter to try and shake off the feeling that you’re going to pass out, “is that with my insurance?”

The pharmacy tech gives a sad smile, “I’m sorry, I checked it three times just to be sure.”

Shit. SHIT. What the fuck were you going to do now? There’s no way you could afford that with a full week until payday, and even then that would end up eating into a good chunk of your budget. You thank her, and let her know you’ll be right back.

You’re trying very hard to focus on your breathing as you pull your phone out. Your anxiety has been at an all time high ever since you started this process, and you second-guess yourself constantly. Maybe this is a sign that this was a bad idea after all? Everyone you care about kept trying to talk you out of starting hormone therapy, trying to convince you either that the feelings you had would pass or that lycomorphone would fuck your life up.

Now you were being priced out of it. You scroll through GoodRx to see if maybe you can get a better price through them than your shitty insurance while meandering through the aisles. In the background, you can hear another girl arguing with the pharmacist; she seems to be getting pretty heated.

There’s about ten bucks in crumpled ones in your pocket from a tip a customer gave you last night, which you use to buy a Monster before moving outside- the argument at the pharmacy is only making your anxiety worse. You lean against the cool concrete wall of the drug store as you continue desperately searching for your medication on the mobile site.

After a moment, another woman storms out of the building. She’s muttering angrily to herself as she takes out a cigarette and takes up a spot on the wall near you. Holy fucking shit, she’s so gorgeous. An absolute badass smoke-show is standing right fucking next to you and you’re too big of a disaster to even form a coherent thought even though you desperately want to say fucking anything to make yourself look cool in front of her.

She seems to notice your distress, “Sorry, I can stand further away if this is bothering you.”

“No, no I’m good,” you respond quickly. Say something, dumbass. Literally, say anything. For the love of all that is holy, do not fuck up a chance to talk to a pretty girl like this. “Tough day?” Fuck it, it will have to do.

She lets out an annoyed laugh, “I’ve been waiting two weeks for my prescriptions, and they’ve been no help at all. They say it’s my doctor’s fault, but my doctor insists they’ve sent the prescriptions right on their end. Which leaves me without my fucking hormones, but no one seems to care.”

You start to feel angry on her behalf- how fucking dare they make someone suffer like that? Before your brain even realizes what you’re doing, your morbid humor kicks in, “Wanna set the building on fire? It probably won’t help, but it might make you feel better.”

She laughs. Like the hopeless romantic you are, you’re already picturing both of you picking out wedding dresses together. Get it together for fuck’s sake. “You’re cute. Thank you, but I’ll have to decline, even though it’s very tempting.”

She drops and stomps out her cigarette. “Hey,” she pauses and you notice that she’s blushing a little bit, “you’re a wolf girl, right? Sorry, I couldn’t help but overhear you trying to get your meds.” She taps her ear, and you notice it twitch ever so gently, “Rabbit hearing. It’s one of the first changes you really notice.”

Did you just seriously start salivating? What the hell is wrong with you? You swallow and smile shyly, “Yeah, but I haven’t gotten my meds yet.”

“I noticed. Sorry.” She checks her phone then sighs, “Well, this is super annoying. I need a drink. Wanna hit up the coffee shop across the street? My treat,” she smiles.

“Absolutely,” the word tumbles out in practically a single syllable as you practically leap off the wall to join her.

She chuckles. “I’m Bunny,” she says while offering you her hand.

“That’s a little on the nose, don’t you think?” Why are you so fucking dense?

Rather than getting offended, she laughs, “I didn’t pick it, actually. It was just a happy coincidence.” You take her hand. After a moment she gives you a look, “And your name is…?”

“Shit, right. Sorry. I’m Lou. Louisa.”

“Sure it’s not short for lupine?”

“It’s not not short for that.”

Hey, that was over a year ago now. Congratulations, you’ve managed to not fuck up this relationship so far! Idiot.

Every Morning After

(cw pain, blood)

She left you with almost nothing last night; you clung to her as long as she let you, but as a shadow leaves after the setting sun, she evacuated your quarters mere moments after piercing your neck and drinking until she was full and sick of your blood. You called out to her by name, over and over and over, words falling onto the deaf nothing of the world outside. You cursed the quiet, empty space beside you in bed, the one you kept in case she ever wanted to stay through the night with you. Not that she ever would. Instead, she disappeared for days, sometimes weeks at a time, and you'd never get a notice she'd be coming around.

The only thing able to rouse you from your painful respite is the aching memory in your neck. She was never far from your thoughts, but when you move and feel that searing passion, everything floods back. You forget yourself. For just a moment, you forget your pain; the association itself breeds momentarily endless pleasure as if you were still feeding her. You want to sustain her. You want to support her.

And that surge is enough to get you out of bed. Standing leaves your mind swirling and your legs shaking, and you reach for the cane beside your door. Your hand shakes as you grasp at it, and you just barely nudge it to clatter onto the floor. You do bend a handful of your vertebrae to pick it up, but the instant vertigo tells you that if you finish that lean, you won't be getting back up again. So you let it lie there, useless as your own legs. You swear she drank more than normal. You also know your own memory of every feeding is beyond hazy, and that she gets to do whatever she wants. She also gets to tell you to do anything; if you don't care for yourself, she won't come back. When that beautiful pain doesn't drag you out of bed, that ultimatum certainly will. You need to see her again as bad as she needs blood. You tell yourself it's equal, that she needs you as much as you need her - it makes you feel better, even if it's completely untrue.

You stagger to the kitchen, the countertops there your only support. The kettle feels so heavy you nearly drop it, but you manage to get it under the sink with a clatter - you know its base isn't able to shatter the ceramic plates you always leave over night. You've done it enough times. You grab the lever of the faucet, your blood pounding and rushing from your neck to your arm, and you can't close your hand around it. You see stars as you force it, your fingers closing with agonizing tension like forcing shut the jaws of a cardboard wrench.

Lifting it while it's even a bit full of water is nearly impossible. You rest it in an open palm and brace it against your chest, both of your hands rocking so much you spill some from the spout onto your bloodstained shirt. You do make it to the heating element, though, and force the switch on. You heave your breath, wishing you could lie down beside her, her firm touch the only thing keeping you alive.

She left a new box of tea right beside the heater, unopened. On the front was a sticky note, one taken from your own desk, with a little heart drawn on it.

"Enjoy every morning for me, Sunny.

-M"

You feel part of yourself trying to hate your new name, but it is impossibly weak. You have no idea what's in the tea - the note covers the ingredients. It's not like it matters; you would drink it if it were nothing but a bunch of hemlock if it meant another night with her. The box is difficult to open - she requires you keep your nails long, so you don't want to risk breaking them trying to pry the box apart. You have to use a knife, balanced so shoddily between your fingers it would've slipped without the friction of your fingerprints. You take one of the teabags - they were clearly made by M herself - and put it in your lightest mug.

When you pour the hot water in, you spill plenty onto the counters and some on the floor. You pretend you didn't singe your foot fucking it up. The water goes a deep brownish red as the mug fills, and the whole room smells fruity and dark like a chocolate strawberry. When you sip it… It tastes like her. It makes you feel like you can slump back, so you do, right onto the couch without a second thought. The sudden motion makes you spill more onto your bare leg, but another sip drains your focus into the liquid and before long, it's like you are made new. You swear that you can feel her near you, her arms wrapping around your midsection to bring your lower into your seat, her lips trailing sweet kisses from your cheeks to your neck, her hands down to your hips and up across your ribs…

But when you turn, you are as alone as you were minutes after she bit you. As alone as you were when you woke up this morning. It wasn't her bringing you into your comfort; it was your pain, the only companion you truly had, the only thing she would ever leave you with.

Sara Berry- Sad Lesbian